Note: WOW, an update this fast? Yay! I know this story has featured an original character a lot, which is something I tend to avoid. I do try and base the "original" character on bits and pieces of other characters that would suit the story (in this case Jim in War Horse with a bit of an American vibe). When I realised I needed more characters that needed to be more than just goons, I decided to make this a sort-of crossover for the last couple of chapters. This story now features two characters from the tv-series "Spooks" or "MI5" depending on which country you're in. It's a brilliant British espionage show with very interesting and deep characters. I highly recommend it!

-:-

Chapter Seven.

'How is he?' Charles approached.

'Come here, make sure he's breathing,' Bond ordered. He checked the pulse before moving off to let Charles take over. The man looked next to fainting – apparently getting shot was easier than watching someone else die, which was true for a lot of people, Bond had found. 'Don't open the door to anyone. If anyone tries to get in without knocking, hide,' he warned. 'What about Q?' He distantly heard Charles ask as he ran out.

He sprinted back to the other room.

It was undisturbed. He started scanning the carpet, getting down on hands and knees to see better. There, just by the bathroom door: the piano wire. He got some towels from the bathroom, ignoring the dead woman in the bath, wrapped them around his hands, then spun the wire around them again. He got into position so he would be behind the door when it opened.

He didn't have to wait long.

The door opened slowly, the gun coming into view first.

He kicked at it hard – it flew out of the man's hand – and slammed against the door with his body. The killer was slammed between the door and frame, but he pushed himself into the room with a groan, the door slamming shut behind him. Bond leapt, getting his arms over the man's head and the wire close to his neck.

The man got one hand under the wire before it went tight. He struggled, reversing hard into the wall, but Bond kept his head from getting banged. He pulled with all his strength, feeling the wire cutting into the man's hand. The would-be killer yelled out in pain, leaning forward and then slamming his body back again to try and knock Bond off. When that failed, he spun, his strength surprising Bond.

The force of the spin loosened Bond's grip just enough for the man to get hold of one of his arm and duck, pivoting Bond over his shoulder. He let go before Bond hit the floor, however, and Bond rolled away and onto his feet. The man's right hand was a mess, and he held it close to his body as he leapt for the gun. Bond did the same.

Bond was furthest away, and was stopped short by the barrel aimed at his chest. He backed away slowly.

'A poor choice, Mr. Bond,' the man sighed. 'I assume my companion is dead?'

'See for yourself,' Bond gestured towards the bathroom.

'I'll take your word for it,' he snapped. They were at an impasse. Someone was bound to have heard the noise, and if they didn't move now, they would be arrested and kept below deck until they arrived. If he shot Bond, the sound, even with the silencers, could be enough to warrant an investigation, especially if people were already on their way-

The knock on the door made the decision for them.

Bond moved forward as the man stepped aside, taking Bond's position from a moment ago behind the door.

Bond opened the door to find a disgruntled crew member.

'There's been a report on some noise, Sir.'

'Oh, I'm very sorry,' Bond said. 'We got a little excited.'

'Yes, well, if you could please keep it down.'

'It won't happen again. I'm very sorry.' The crew member nodded, relieved to have gotten that task out of the way, and hurried off. As he closed the door, the gun was stabbed into Bond's side.

'Now, Mr. Bond, we will go to wherever your friend is waiting.'

'He's dead too, I'm afraid.'

'I find that hard to believe.'

'He died of his wound. She stabbed him in the side- He lost too much blood before I got to him. It's over.'

'Then why this pointless attack?'

'He was my friend,' Bond bit out. The man laughed and jabbed him again.

'Give me a towel.' Bond gave him one he had used for the wire. The man wrapped his hand, then gestured to the door with the gun.

'Go, show me,' he ordered.

They traversed the hallway slower this time, but luckily most passengers were out and about at this time of day. Bond took his time in opening the door. He stepped inside first before the man could protest, but only Q was on the bed. Bond couldn't tell if he was breathing.

'See,' he said as the man entered, closing the door. 'Dead, thanks to your companion.' He sneered at the last word, letting his anger show. The gunman gave him a disdainful glance, as if he could not comprehend Bond's lack of professionalism. He went towards the bed, keeping himself half-facing Bond at all times.

Bond allowed himself half a second to stare at Q, willing his chest to move, but he didn't have the time to dwell on it. Suddenly, the gunman cried out in horrified pain just as he reached the corner of the bed, falling backwards, hopping on one foot. Bond wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but he sprang forward, planting one foot on the bed and jumping off straight into the man, grabbing the gun as they both went down.

The man was still screaming in pain as Bond got the gun facing him. He rose, looking for what was causing his distress. A switch-blade was piecing his ankle. That would do it. Bond almost felt sorry for him, with now only one hand and one foot left.

He looked to the bed and found Charles had been hidden on the far side of the bed, with his head towards the foot, ready to stab at whoever approached. He was shaking visibly.

'I forgot to mention I-I still had the knife,' he stuttered. Bond only nodded. The gunman was still wailing, trying to reach down with his left hand to get it out. He wasn't very good at handling pain, Bond mused. He considered his options.

In the end it was an easy choice. Sacrifice a gunman who might have killed hundreds, or allow him to live and risk exposure and a nice extradition back to the US and the end of this little adventure?

He did it in the bathroom. The silencer still made a good deal of noise, but most people wouldn't recognise a gunshot like that unless it sounded like a film. The assassins each had a bathtub coffin.

Charles didn't look at him when he returned. Instead he was sitting vigil by Q.

'How is he?' Bond asked, bracing himself.

'His pulse is steady, as far as I can tell,' Charles said. 'And he's breathing well enough, I think.'

Bond went over and did the checks himself, and Q was indeed doing as well as could be expected. Bond couldn't hold in the great sigh of relief.

'Now what?' Charles asked timidly.

'First of all, thank you for saving the day, Charles,' Bond told him, waiting until the lad had made eye contact before continuing. 'You saved our lives. That man was going to kill all of us.'

Charles nodded once.

'We get into port the day after tomorrow. As long as we're the first off the ship, we should be on a plane by the time the maids start cleaning. I'm going to check their cabin and make sure no one checks their rooms before then. Stay with Q. Eat something, but no alcohol. I need your clear headed. Understood?'

'Yes, Sir.' Bond ignored the Sir, thinking perhaps Charles needed some discipline to ground himself. He cleaned himself up as best he could, making sure he didn't have any visible blood on him.

In the assassins' room he found another knife, a mobile phone, lots of cash, fake passports, more wire, and a medical kit, but no files or pictures of their target. He double checked and then hung the "Do not disturb" sign on the door. He went back to the suite and went outside on the little balcony to check the phone.

It was a Nokia, with no dialled numbers or messages, but a few apps Bond wasn't familiar with. He really needed Q to take a look at it. He put it away in his breast pocket, breathing in the salty air and allowing himself a moment of pure thought.

Then he went back inside and made sure Charles had eaten something, but he hadn't. He did look less pale, and so did Q. He reminded Charles not to look behind the shower curtain if he used the bathroom, then went and got some dinner at the American diner-styled restaurant. They ate in silence, then later they tried to wake Q to get him to drink.

'What's happened?' he whispered after he had forced down a few mouthfuls of water.

'The assassins are dead,' Charles told him. He was the one doing the nursing. He gently lowered Q's head back to the pillow. 'We just have to get you fit enough to get off the ship, and then we're free.'

'Are those chips I smell?' he asked. Charles chuckled and fed Q one, who then needed more water. Bond watched it all from a chair placed next to the bed.

XXX

For a long time, Q was only aware of the pain in his side. Occasionally, his head would be lifted and he would have to swallow a few mouthfuls of water. Very occasionally, he forced himself to speak. Mostly, however, he just listened to Charles' voice. It was very soothing, for an American, but he found himself listening hard to discover if Bond was in the room.

When he wanted to distract himself, he dreamt of their last encounter. He had obliterated the smell of her from him, and he was rather proud of that fact. Her trying to kill him had seemed a little comical. She had gone for both of them, but mistakenly believed Q had gone out, only for him to return because he had forgotten his jacket.

Such a simple little thing, in the end, that saved them. That, and him stabbing her repeatedly in the back.

He had felt the knife go in with such detail, but not until after the fact. With his line of work, he had often listened to agents killing people, even with things other hand guns. Now he would always know what it felt like, pushing the knife through skin and muscle, again and again. Ridiculously thin, when confronted with a blade.

In his dreams he was both the stabber and the stabbed, but it was so slow, and he tried to will it to stop, to lift his hand, but it just kept pushing inside him, like it would never reach his centre.

'I don't want to go,' a voice said.

'Why?' Bond. Q strained to open his eyes, but he was so tired. How long had he slept?

'How can I? Just sit on an island for the rest of my life, wondering if the next person to knock on my door is going to kill me? I can't live like that. I've decided. I want it all out.'

'You think that will allow you to live your life?' Bond asked. 'You'll be hounded for the rest of your life, and not just by reporters. People will want to kill you for what you represent. Sure, there might only be a few nutters who truly hate you for what your mother did, but all it takes is one, and a good vantage point.'

'But it happened before I was born! And the whole thing never even really happened. Besides, if it's all out, all three countries would be equally scandalized. Won't that- won't that cancel it all out?'

'They will all be scandalized, certainly, but it's not simply about countries any more, but individuals-'

Bond paused, as he considered, but Charles thought he had finished.

'But it's been so long. Aren't they all dead by now?'

'Not all of them, but there may be another option.'

'What?'

'You want assurances, correct? To be able to live in peace.'

'Yes,' Charles sighed.

'Right then. We'll have to get the Foreign Secretary involved.' Q could hear Bond was pacing. "The Home Secretary as well – MI5 could issue you with a new identity, erase your old, and make you a citizen. And for your security, we'll make a deal - so long as you keep in contact with a third party, the information will never be released. If contact is lost, the data is out, including DNA samples. Is that what you want? I guarantee you, it would be a lot easier to just keep going.'

'Yes... but can they do that? Give me a whole new identity? A real one?'

'They do it all the time, that's the easy part.'

'What's the hard?'

'Getting to the right people without anyone killing us along the way.'

'Right...'

'Are you willing to risk it?'

'If it means I won't have to look over my shoulder, then yes.'

'Then I have a few calls to make. Stay with him.'

'Of course.'

Q wondered what daft plan Bond was organizing now. He wouldn't have gone to the trouble of making deals, personally, but then again he could hide himself a lot easier than Charles ever could. He probably wouldn't have lasted very long once he was on his own. No, an official contract was perhaps the better option, if he trusted Bond to get it for him.

He drifted back into the dark.

XXX

They got Q off the ship by pretending he had gotten sick. The crew were all too happy to get him off before he spread any germs they might be liable for. They got on a plane within the hour, and by breakfast the next day, they were in Paris.

Q and Charles kept travelling together, and drove a rental car to the ferry that would take them home. For hours they did not see the agent, until they finally glimpsed him as they disembarked on British soil. They were to drive straight to London, however, and did not make eye contact. Charles was driving, and several times Q thought they might die before they arrived.

Q hated being this weak, and not knowing much about the plan, except for the mobile phone Bond had given him to work with on the plane.

They arrived at a renovated river-side building. Once, it had housed industry, but now it was filled with posh, industrial-styled flats for bachelors. They didn't even know if Bond had arrived. Charles helped him up the stairs to the third floor. They banged on the iron door.

It slid open with a horrible screech.

The man was dark haired and handsome in an unconventional way. He had a rather big nose, with a slight dent from an old fight, and intense blue eyes. He was well-built, like Bond, but his face was thinner. It had the same hardened look most senior agents carried.

'Come in.' His voice was very rough, yet sophisticated, so Q was surprised by the Northern accent. Inside things were Spartan, and reminded Q startlingly of Bond's own flat. Bond was there, thank God, seated on a barstool by the kitchen island.

He got up immediately upon seeing Q, though his face betrayed nothing.

'How is he?' he asked Charles.

'I am fine,' Q snapped, though his bent stance argued differently.

'You can rest here,' the man offered. 'While we deal with things.'

'You are not leaving me behind,' Q told Bond.

'Are you ready, Charles?'

'I am not being left behind!' But no one was listening. Charles nodded, then Bond nodded to the mystery man, and he left, gesturing for Charles to follow him. Q had been about to grab Charles, but suddenly losing his support made him wobbly. Bond was there in a heartbeat, sliding an arm round his waist from his good side.

'Let go,' Q protested.

'You've done your job,' Bond said, 'now let me do mine.'

'There's no trigger that needs pulling,' Q argued. 'Remember that.' There was an odd silence from the usually quick Bond, so Q forced himself to look up into the man's face. It was inscrutable, as usual.

'I hope that after all this you know I'm more than a man with a gun.'

'Of- of course,' Q said, shocked at the suggestion. He hadn't meant his statement to be interpreted thus.

'Good.' Leaving down quick, Bond pressed a chaste kiss to Q's lips, who was feeling far too dizzy for such movements. He was left to find the bedroom on his own, his insides in a knot, not even a audio link with Bond to give assistance. At least he had his laptop. There were ways to observe what was happening without permission...

XXX

'Charles, this is Lucas,' Bond mentioned as they strode to the car in the underground garage. 'He's made the arrangements for your security measurement.'

'Hello,' Charles nodded. He was looking a little nervous. 'Are you with MI6?'

'MI5, but I've worked with 007 before.' Lucas made eye contact briefly as they separated to go to opposite sides of the car. "Worked" was debatable, but Bond trusted him because he had been in a similar situation, and sought help from Bond. This was a return of a favour. Bond pictured Lucas shirtless – he knew every tattoo by heart, a staple of the Russian prison system. They had licked their old wounds together many a night, but that had been years ago.

They drove in silence through the streets of London, Lucas at the wheel.

Bond knew he was nervous. He knew Charles was probably terrified. Even Lucas was uneasy, and he didn't know the half of it.

Whitehall shone brightly in the unseasonable sun. The Foreign Office looked remarkably peaceful, and as Bond stepped out of the car, his instincts were already finished with the whole thing. It was inevitable, and there was no escape, so his nervousness faded.

Fifty armed police sprang from every corner and door. Bond's only check was to glance at Lucas, who had gotten out as well. His eyes told of no betrayal, and Bond knew the man would be honourable enough to admit it at this point. Bond was only sorry to have involved the chap.

Charles looked defeated as the officers swarmed at them. Bond held up his hands and surrendered, and Charles mirrored him.

Bond had messed up before – more than he would admit – but this time felt different. This time, he didn't think he's be able to brush it off and get up again.

They were led in the opposite direction of the Foreign Office, straight into a waiting van, and then driven in silence to MI6. Charles didn't ask any questions, which Bond was thankful for. The last thing he needed was a vocal prisoner by his side.

Even without windows, Bond knew the route to Headquarters. They were taken inside through the back entrance. Bond was surprised when they were taken all the way directly to M's office.

He was standing behind his desk, reading a file. He glanced up when the three of them were brought in. None of them had been handcuffed, which Bond thought slightly arrogant of them.

'Welcome back at last, 007,' M greeted. He frowned at the two on either side of him. 'Now, which one is which?'

'This is Lucas North, Sir,' Bond said. 'MI5.'

'Does Pearce know you're here?' he asked Lucas, surprised, referring to the Head of Lucas' department.

'No, Sir,' Lucas admitted freely. 'I was doing Bond a favour. I'm afraid I've been a bit naïve, Sir.' He gave Bond an annoyed look. M nodded slightly, but was unconvinced.

'What exactly did Bond ask of you?'

'To be a witness, Sir, and not ask questions.'

'A witness?' M looked from one person to the next, ending on Charles. His gaze settled on him with a long pensive breath.

'Sir-'

'Not now, Bond,' M cut him off. 'I think you are well aware of your situation at this point.'

There were three guards escorting them, but they were keeping a safe distance, guns trained on them. No way he could spring into action without getting shot. Besides, that would be counter-productive at this point.

'Sir, allow me to introduce Charles,' Bond spoke quickly. 'The son of-'

'Enough,' M snapped, throwing the file he was holding to the desk. He nodded to the guards. 'What did they have on their persons?'

'A weapon each, Sir,' one guard answered. 'Nothing else.'

'Leave us,' M said as he opened a drawer in his desk. The guards didn't hesitate, and by the time they had closed the door, M had a weapon trained on them – or, more specifically, on Charles.

'Did you really expect this to end with some great revelation, Bond?' he asked, his deep frown making it looked like he had smelled something bad. 'And why would you involve an MI5 agent?'

'I didn't, Sir, he knows nothing.' M shook his head in disappointed, again not convinced. He looked the perfect picture of the disgruntled father figure.

'Sir,' Charles attempted. 'Please, I don't-'

'Spare me,' M said. 'This isn't about you. It's just bad luck, really.' He looked to Bond again. 'Just one question before I have to sort this out.'

'Let me guess, why?'

'Oh, I know why, Bond,' M smiled sadly. 'It's that self-delusion you've always had that you are some sort of righteous man. I knew it the moment I met you. The old M laboured under the same misconception for your whole career. Men like you are useful in some cases, but they always disappoint you in the end.'

'Well, I am happy to have served, Sir,' Bond said with gratitude, causing M to snort softly.

There was a loud bang outside the door, but not a gunshot. Someone was angry.

'Let me through at once,' a voice said, filled with unquestionable authority. 'My agent is being held-' Someone was attempting to argue with him. M put down his gun just as the door burst open and Harry Pearce stormed in, stopping short to take in the scene.

Bond had never met the man, and had not been expecting to meet him at that moment. He looked more like an old English stock-broker than an MI5 agent, but he had been one of the best. Now, he was head of counter-terrorism, and not to be trifled with by anyone in the British government.

'Harry,' M began, but trailed off as Pearce took out a mobile phone. He stabbed at it a few times, then held it up as the sound of the phone dialling a number rang through the room.

A second later and the answering ring could be heard from M's jacket pocket.

To his credit he didn't look shocked or surprised, he merely lifted an eyebrow.

'Is there a reason you are calling me while in my presence?' he asked.

'Is there a reason your number is the only one hidden on an assassin's telephone?' Pearce countered. M went ever-so-slightly stiff, but he was professional enough to not react. 'Is there also a reason one of your employees hacked into MI5 to display some disturbing information about a discontinued MI6 operation on every single screen?'

M's eyes met Bond. He conceded gracefully with a nod. Bond returned it. On the inside he was smirking. He didn't know if he wanted to scold Q or kiss him. Little did he know, Q was thinking the exact same thing about him.